The other week I watched Doctor Strange, Marvel’s multi million dollar adaptation of their cult comic book which utilised thousands of effects artist to dazzle the eye and some of the world’s finest actors to add gravitas to the pixellated wonder.
And yet throughout I felt little emotion. There was little tension, a modicum of humour and the explosive finale was good not great.
So at the other end of the spectrum, director Roger Spottiswoode’s version of A Street Cat Named Bob, the best seller about a recovering drug addict’s relationship with the eponymous moggie, didn’t bode well. Two stars in a major movie mag suggested it was going to flop, but I empathised from minute one.
That feeling of being an outcast rings a bell with anyone who’s felt on the outside looking in, junkie or not. And finding friendship with a cat who fills a hole in your life is far easier to relate to than an arrogant surgeon tackling the forces of evil.
As I hadn’t read the book I had no expectations, unlike The Martian and The Girl on the Train.
It’s not a perfect movie. The Bob cam POV gimmick wears thin after a while and Luke Treadaway spends a little too long narrating to his feline mate, but you’re on his side from the outset, dreading every shady character who threatens to wreck his path to recovery. This is essentially Trainspotting with a Richard Curtis filter.
The cast are great. Joanne Froggatt is splendid as James’s doc, Ruta Gedmintas a toothy treat as his vegan neighbour, and Anthony Head as sublime as ever as the troubled hero’s hen-pecked dad who’s turned his back on his son.
The songs are sweet and a little forgettable, and although the finale feels a little rushed, it scarcely mattered. My heartstrings were plucked throughout, and as expected, Bob stole every scene he was in.
It’s not essential to see it on the big screen, but if you do there’s a good chance it will prove more rewarding than a mega bucks fantasy adventure.
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